


The Seven Snows

by mygreywind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygreywind/pseuds/mygreywind
Summary: How the new heroes of Westeros were born





	1. Sansa I: Steel

Sansa was awakened by the deep howling of a wolf. She jolted at the shrilling sound piercing her head. It wasn't Lady, obviously, nor it was Ghost. Ghost was silent. Couldn't have been the lost Nymeria, or the dead Shaggydog, or his brother Bran's wolf. She rubbed at her forehead, and felt the little droplets of sweat. She shook her head to herself, night terrors again. It must've been coming from outside the castle walls. The gentle ray of the early morning's sun had peeked through the cracks of the window and into her chambers, making her bright auburn hair glow like the red star. She stared at the ceiling. It had already been official. It was to be the last time for her to wake up alone in her own chambers, on her own bed, under her own ceiling, in her own air. Sansa shut her eyes, listening to her own breathing. _Tomorrow_ , she said to herself, you, S _ansa Stark will be greeting the day with someone, will be sharing the morning light with a man beside yourself._ _If you shall be sharing the rest of your days with someone, then you shall be spending your last day alone._ It certainly shouldn't hurt if she stayed there a little longer. She was the Lady of Winterfell, after all.

_He's my brother,_ Sansa reminded herself. _No. He's father's bastard. Your half-brother. It can't be that hard now, can it? They had been the one who arranged us to wed. Jon and I never asked for this, but we know it's for the best._

She had never really paid attention. He actually turned out very good, much better looking. He had always looked lean, and she wondered if he was as ripped as they say underneath all his leathered suit and the thick Stark cloak she had made for him. She should find out very soon, as she knew they were to share a bed, and eventually to produce heirs. She wondered if she would feel hurt when she finally had to see the scars on his body. The daggers, the knives, the swords, Sansa had forgotten, all the blades that had left deep, huge cuts on his chest, his belly, they said. _He had died._  
She will be all right with Jon, she assured herself. He was always brave. She'll be safe with him. He wasn't like Ramsay, or Joffrey, or Tyrion. He had always been her family.

He was the hero she had always dreamt of, she realised, the one who is brave, gentle, and strong, just like father had promised her. _Will he love me? After the way I treated him long time ago? Does he remember? Will he forgive me entirely?_

_You will try to love him,_ Sansa whispered to herself. _I will love him,_ she nodded. _And I will make him love me. He will adore me and love me forever because I will love him too. He will treat me well. The best. We could be in love,_ she soothed herself. _We'll grow to love each other. We will build our relationship_ , she promised to herself. _We will build it, stone by stone, and I promise you, it will stay longer. Just like mother and father's did._

Sansa glanced at the chair standing near the window, there lied her project she had been working on. It was meant to be a gift for Jon, her gratitude, but it looked like it would suit more as a wedding gift to her now. Not a cloak this time. It was a neck piece with patterns of Weirwood leaves embroidered onto it, finished with a silver Direwolf pin. Father’s house.


	2. Jon I: The Stone in The Heart

The King in the North shivered. He had been standing by the window from the first light, watching the light snows fall to the ground. _My last night,_ Jon told himself _. I'll be sharing my bed with my sister tonight,_ he reminded himself _. No. Gods, she's your half-sister. It doesn't matter now. It's for the North. It's the best choice. We'll stand stronger this way,_ he reminded himself. _We'll be all right. I'll keep her safe. I'll make her happy,_ he promised to himself.

 Sansa was a very beautiful, strong woman in Jon’s eyes. Very smart too, and sweet. _That's how I pictured my mother in my dreams. Maybe that's why father fell for her or chose to bed her at least, she must've been just like Lady Catelyn_. Sansa had always looked radiant. Jon blinked, reminiscing. He remembered very well when she walked Prince, King Joffrey a long, long time ago to the feast in Winterfell. The famous red hair of the Tullys of hers glowed brightly even under the dim light of the candles hanging on the ceiling of the Hall. She was kissed by fire, just like Ygritte the wildling he had fallen in love with once, only she was gentle, and soft. _I've always loved her, as a family. Robb was my brother, Bran was too, and so was Rickon and Arya was my sister. I loved them, so I loved Sansa too, even though she didn’t consider me as a family once. She was their sister, therefore, she was mine too. I'll love her for good now. She's to be my wife, my Queen, and I'm to be her husband, and King. We should grow to love each other. I'm sure she'll wake up loving me the same way I'm loving her one day._

Jon had wondered if his father had loved his mother. He wondered if the honourable Eddard Stark had bedded his mother only because she was beautiful like Lady Catelyn, and as lovely as she was, or only because he was under the influence of wine, too drunk that he had forgotten about his honour, or just because he had just missed the warmth of a woman whilst at war that he had himself picked one to bed. Whoever she was, father must have at least loved her, he guessed. _Because if he didn’t, why didn’t he send me away? Why didn’t he let Lady Catelyn send me away? Why did he still keep me inside his castle walls, and broke bread with his trueborn children?_

He cursed to himself. He had promised himself, swore to the Old Gods in fact, that he won’t take no wife, father no children. _Was it only for the Night’s Watch? Did he ever want one for his own?_ They were only bastards he didn’t want to father. He didn’t care. But as a Lord, as a King, he had his responsibilities, and duties, and an honourable reason to have a Queen, who will bear children for him. Jon felt sick at the thought of it, but the fact his children will all be trueborn calmed him a little. Oh how he wished he could be a trueborn, and noble. He wished he had a great family name he could pass down to his heirs, and their children.

 Something snapped, and he felt bitter in an instant, anxiety rising in him. _What was it?_ He shut his eyes, searching his mind. _Ah, the bedding ceremony. A wedding tradition in Westeros._ It was the last thing he had ever wished for, especially the fact this was his half-sister. Jon loved her though, but he wasn’t sure if she did love him back. That would make it harder for him to perform later night. Jon felt himself trembling. He was terrified. _What if I hurt her?_ He did not want to dishonour her sister. _Why are we even in Westeros? Are things the same in the East? In Essos? Are there other parts in the world besides these two damned lands where everything is just fair?!_

Life isn’t fair though. Jon knew that.

  _But I am the King in the North,_ Jon reminded himself. He clenched his fists, struggling. _I could call off the bedding ceremony, but only if that pleases her. Sansa. Gods, I just wanted her to feel like she was home._

Jon flinched at the loud knocks at the door. He swiveled sharply, grasping his under shirt at the foot of the bed, he stood up flinching again at the loud knocks.

 “Yes,” he grunted, feeling hot and annoyed.

 He cursed at the sight of a wet stain on the linen of his featherbed beneath the furs. He had spilled, _again_. _What of it?_ He groaned in distress. _Aye,_ _I’ve got it now._

“Your Grace-“

 “Be right there!” He barked.


	3. Sansa II: In The Godswood

They met at the Godswood. Seated under the weirwood tree, Sansa began to collect her dress, having finished with her prayers. She flinched at the sound of steps on the crunchy snowy ground, followed by a familiar husky voice. "Here you are," Jon breathed. She turned around quickly and sighed in relief at the sight of him, warm and inviting. He was home. She was at home finally, truly. Winterfell would not entirely be home without him, a family.

"Jon," Sansa smiled as she stepped closer to hug him. They both needed it, somehow to break any possible tensions that might have been building up. "Sansa," Jon smiled back. "You all right?" He whispered, his hand on her cheek. Sansa only nodded, strangely she shuddered at his touch.

Jon had been different after his death. He had been blessed not just with a new life but also better sight, better hearing, better senses and Sansa was sure he felt her heart skipping quickly as their chests touched. He broke the hug apart to see her face. "Are you sure there, love?" He asked, cupping her face.

Sansa never realised how brown his eyes were until she looked closely this way. She remembered him now. She remembered how different he was from herself, Robb, Bran, and Rickon. His eyes were strange to Lady Catelyn, her mother, she remembered. Those brown eyes were one of the most reasons mother hated him so badly. But his brown eyes had become Sansa's home since they met again at Castle Black. The familiar blue, and the grey were completely gone. His eyes were the only refuge she had found. She wished she could see her siblings again, at least Bran, who had been in comatose before she even left Winterfell, and oh if only she could see Arya again. She may have hated her most times, but she was still her sister, therefore, one half of her. 

In Jon, she saw her father, Ned Stark, and whenever she needed to remember her mother, Catelyn Tully, she would stare at herself in the mirror. _What if I go crazy? What if I don't recognise myself anymore? And then forget what my mother looked like, which I already have?_ She hoped at least one of the children she will bear for Jon in the future, will have her colourings, so the Tully look will still live on her and Jon's new family. She could name their daughter Catelyn if Jon allows it.

"Why ever not?" Sansa asked, clearing strands of hair from her face.

"No," Jon sighed, offering her his arm as they walked. "It's just.. I’m worried. Truly."

"About what?"

"About you, Sansa." He stopped.

"You shouldn't really, Jon. They were just night terrors, nothing more." She assured him.

 _Gods, he must have heard me again last night,_ she cursed to herself. 

"I'm all right, Jon. I swear it." She whispered to him, touching his face this time. Jon smiled. "Of course you are," he nodded. "You will be all right. You will be my wife, and I need you to know that I will keep you safe, no matter what _. I’ll protect you. I promise._ "

 _Wife._ Sansa looked down at the mention of it. "Thank you, Jon." She murmured, stepping away from him.

"Look, Sansa, I'm sorry this is happening—" he began, taking her wrist. Sansa flinched at the sudden grasp. They were locking eyes now. Again, Sansa drowned in those dark brown eyes of his. Soft and gentle, she thought, but bold just like himself. "There is nothing to be sorry about, Jon." Sansa said softly, smiling for him. "We've agreed to this. It's for the North. It's for the best."

Jon nodded. "Aye," he said. "The future of your house lies in our hands."

Her chest felt tight. "The future of _your_ house." Sansa corrected him. “I will be yours.”

“The future of _our_ house, Sansa.” Jon said firmly, kissing her hands.

Sansa stared at him. “Aye. You will be mine, but you will still belong to yourself… and I will be yours as you are mine. We will belong to each other; do you understand me?”

" _Your Grace!"_ Someone shouted, loud and clear but definitely heading closer. Sansa gasped, feeling more alerted than ever.

They turned around. It was a steward, or one of the household, Sansa couldn’t tell, she couldn’t remember. The Lannisters had most butchered in the South, and Ramsay probably had the rest, who had remained in Winterfell, flayed, or hunted for sport, and the rest were probably killed on where they had stood, by himself or the Greyjoys when Theon took over. She had kept her head down at all times in Winterfell with Ramsay that she barely noticed the people in the castle. But he seemed like he was her father’s, and was always on their side. Sansa stepped closer when she realised he was sprinting at them, but Jon had caught her wrist as he fastened his cloak, gripping Longclaw on his hip tightly.

"What is it? A deserter?" Sansa asked.

"No, m'lady." He spoke, catching his breath. "From the North- said they-"

"Slowly," Jon said, reaching his hand out.

"Brandon Stark has returned."

Sansa found herself gaping at him. "Bran? Our brother?" Sansa gasped in disbelief. "Dragged on a cart by a lady, called Meera Reed. Said they were rescued by Benjen Stark."

"Uncle Benjen?" Jon hesitated for a moment, but Sansa had taken his hand in hers, lifting her skirts to prevent herself from tripping.


	4. Jon II: Home Again

The frozen leaves on the ground rustled as they raced to the gates with the winds of winter howling deeply. Sansa’s red braids had loosened and her eyes had welled with tears when they finally reached him. Their brother, home at Winterfell. It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a lie, but Jon’s chest still felt heavy.

“Brandon!” Sansa had cried. It was formal of her, but Jon still couldn’t bring himself to speak nor could he react. Still shocked, he couldn’t believe his crippled brother had survived the harsh winter, and everything else, all this time. Bran reached out to his sister as Sansa threw her arms around him. Her tears had gone frozen but Jon could hear her sniffling. “Thank the gods!”

"Where the hell have you been? Where did you come from, Bran?" Sansa cried, tears spilling from her eyes. She pulled her brother close to her, feeling his thick frozen hair through her fingers. "I missed you. We've missed you so much. Gods. Damn you, Bran." She mumbled. " _Don't ever leave again!_ You're home now! You're safe!"

"Let's get you cleaned up now." Jon said, picking him up. He turned to the girl beside his brother, suddenly remembering her presence. "Gods, where are my courtesies, my lady.."

"It's Meera, Your Grace.' Meera Reed curtsied.

Jon smiled. "It's Jon, Meera-"

"Reed."

"Meera Reed," Sansa said, tasting the name in her tongue. "Your father is Howland Reed. He saved our father's life during the Rebellion."

"Thank you for keeping our brother safe, Meera, and bringing him home." Jon said. "You shall stay under our roofs, and feast with us. We cannot thank you enough-"

"Jon." Bran said quickly. "We’ve got no time now. We've got to speak quickly."

 


End file.
